"Is Volódya at home?" was heard Dubkóv's voice in the antechamber.
"Yes," said Volódya, taking down his legs and placing his book on the table.
Dubkóv and Nekhlyúdov, dressed in their overcoats and hats, entered the room.
"Well, Volódya, shall we drive to the theatre?"
"No, I have no time," said Volódya, blushing.
"Don't say that! Come, let us go!"
"I have not even a ticket."
"You may get all the tickets you want at the entrance."
Wait, I shall be back in a moment," Volódya said evasively, and, jerking his shoulder, left the room. I knew that Volódya wanted very much to go to the theatre, to which Dubkóv had invited him, that he declined only because he had no money, and that he went out to borrow five roubles of the steward against his next allowance.
"Good evening, diplomat!" Dubkóv said to me, giving me his hand.
Volódya's friends called me diplomat, because once at dinner grandmother, who was talking of our future, said, in their presence, that Volódya would be a soldier, and that she hoped to see me in the diplomatic service in a black dress coat and with my hair combed à la coq, which, in her opinion, were the necessary conditions for a diplomatic calling.
"Where has Volódya gone?" Nekhlyúdov asked me.
"I do not know," I answered, blushing at the thought that they, no doubt, guessed the cause of Volódya's leaving.
"I suppose he has no money. Am I right? O diplomat!" he added affirmatively, as he explained my smile. "I have not any money, either. And have you any, Dubkóv?"
"Let us see," said Dubkóv, taking out his purse and very carefully feeling a few small coins with his short
